


for the love of the braid

by littlestwolfrose



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 3+1, Bellamy Blake has a hair thing, Clarke loves her goof, F/M, Fluff, Hair Braiding, Kid Fic, like so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 08:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlestwolfrose/pseuds/littlestwolfrose
Summary: 3+1 of Bellamy braiding Clarke's hair.





	for the love of the braid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notsofluffyunicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsofluffyunicorn/gifts).

> out of character. set on the ground. I took some creative liberties i guess. enjoy!!!!! 
> 
> \- for notsofluffyunicorn. dude.. you've been the greatest friend to me for years. I finally listened to u and joined ao3. so thank u for that!

**One**

“We need to start limiting the hunting groups.” Clarke offered, wiggling from side-to-side restlessly as she ran her fingers through her hair. “That’s the only thing I can think of right now.”

Bellamy hummed softly, digging his finger and thumb into his eye sockets, trying to stave off the impending migraine that was looming. He blinked away the dark spots in his vision, and watched as his partner walked around the tent, her shoulders tight with tension, and her hair starting to curl and knot at the base of her neck the longer she dug her fingers through it. 

Nothing seemed to stress either of them out more than figuring out away to keep their 80 plus delinquent children alive on the ground. Protecting and loving the kids was their greatest strength, and their biggest weakness all in one, and that showed in every conversation they had regarding their safety and well-being. 

And every fucking migraine he received for his troubles. 

“Clarke,” He called, patting the seat in front of him. “Face the wall.” 

She huffed through her nose, rolling her eyes fondly at him before making her way towards him, practically falling against him as she settled onto the seat. “If you’re gonna touch my hair, then don’t pull any hair out.” She commanded, waggling her finger at him authoritatively. 

Bellamy swallowed hard, a heat pooling in the pit of his stomach as she used her strongest mom voice on him. That had been an adjustment when he’d figured out that Clarke’s authoritative mom voice turned him on. 

“Shut up, and just thank me for doing it.” 

He could practically  _ hear  _ her eyes rolling as she nudged backwards against him. “Thank you, Bell.” 

Humming softly in acknowledgement, he busied himself with parting her hair into three large parts before running his fingers gently through the strands, loosening up any knots. 

“So what do you think, anyway?” Her soft voice breaking the easy, companionable silence that had washed over them. 

“About?” 

“My plan.” She clarified, tilting her head to the side slightly so he could reach the wisps of hair that had fallen around her face. “What do you think about my plan with the kids?” 

He ignored her momentarily, too focused on overlapping her hair in the same way he’d once seen her do to Octavia before. He frowned as it seemed to loosen up with each thread, mentally cursing Clarke’s ridiculously long hair. 

“Pull it tighter.” 

Grunting, he tugged gently, pulling the loops of hair tighter and smiling in achievement as it tightened against the back of her head. It now resembled the plait she wore occasionally, instead of the jumbled knot he probably would’ve left her with. 

He reached over her shoulder and snagged the elastic from her wrist before tying it into her hair, grinning victoriously as the braid held tightly in place with just a few wispy bits falling around her neck and her face. 

“Thank you.” She murmured, leaning backwards against him slightly, her breath hitching. 

Bellamy bit his lip harshly, trying to stop himself from just swooping down and nibbling on the bit of her neck that she had so willingly bared to him. Instead, he settled for just leaning down and brushing his lips against the shell of her ear slightly, humming softly in satisfaction at the shiver that wracked through her body. 

He pulled away with a sigh and tapped her neck absentmindedly as he mulled over her earlier proposition. 

“It’s the best idea we’ve had,” He finally admitted. “I’ll get the hunting groups together in a while and narrow it down to just a few each time.”

Clarke nodded, tilting her head back and to the left slightly so she could grin up at him. Although, from his angle, she was just smiling at him upside down and he was pretty positive that he could see snot up her nostrils, and yet he still wanted to just surge down and kiss her until he couldn’t breathe. 

He loved her. 

He shook himself out of his own mind, and tweaked her nose playfully. 

“Good solution, Princess.” 

* * *

**Two **

It was days like today, the good days where no immediate threat was obvious, that proved to Clarke that the kids were still just  _ kids.  _

The makeshift fire pit had quickly become the late evening hangout for everybody. Originally, it started out with just Clarke and a few of the younger delinquents sitting around the fire on fallen logs as the ate their dinner silently with everybody else either eating in their tents, or in the dropship. 

Then, it transpired to Bellamy joining them, and with him came at least ten more of the kids, before eventually, more and more fallen logs gathered around the fire pit and all of them ended up settled around the fire at night trading stories amongst the firelight. 

“You cheated!” One of the youngest kids shrieked, giggling as Monty swung her up above his head. “M - Clarke! Monty cheated!” 

Clarke glanced up from her lap and smiled softly at the eleven year old little girl, ( _ Delilah) _ relishing in the sounds of joy emitting from her and a few other in the camp. 

“Monty, put her down!” Bellamy snapped, pointing his finger at the boy. “You’ll drop her.” 

Clarke snorted, nudging him softly. “Hey, he’s got her.” She soothed, biting her lip to keep her chuckles at bay as Monty rolled his eyes in such an indignant way that she immediately pictured him as the sassy teenager he probably was before he was locked up. 

“I’m not listening to them cry if he drops her.” Bellamy grumbled, nudging her back playfully. 

They sit in comfortable silence for a minute before his fingers slowly began dancing up her back, rubbing soothing circles against her hips, before tracing a pattern along each vertebrae of her back. 

She shivered, a choked gasp bursting from her lips as goosebumps erupted along her arms and legs.

His fingers then settled into her hair, his nails scratching across her scalp as he searched for knots. He parted the hair into two bits, draping one part across her shoulder and murmuring quietly for her to hold it. 

“Remember what I told you,” she said just as softly, accepting the hair from him. “It’s the same as what you did last time, but two braids instead of one, and make sure you pull it tightly so it stays in.” 

He nodded, biting down on his tongue in concentration. 

Clarke’s eyes moved away from the little sliver of tongue that was poking out of his mouth, and instead found herself being greeted with another sight that threatened to take her breath away for a whole other reason.

“Miller! Put him down right now!” Clarke shouted, her voice sharp and her tone brokered no argument. Her shoulders tensed, and she tilted her head away from Bellamy almost instinctively as she mentally prepared herself to be left with one or two of the boys injured before she settled against him again. 

She watched as Bellamy glanced up to see what was happening, and his eyes rolled  _ hard  _ as he spotted a sheepish Miller slowing to a walk with Jasper hanging off his shoulder. He waited until Jasper was safely on the ground again before honing in on her hair.

“They’re gonna make me pull my hair out.” 

Clarke winced as a low, offended whine slipped through his lips. He ducked his head down and swivelled her own towards him so he could look at her. 

“I - you can’t do that. I like your hair.” He admitted shyly. “If you pull it out then I’ll be snappy.” 

She snorted and smiled fondly at him, her hand patting his thigh softly. “Then get them to behave.” 

He muttered darkly to himself, ignoring her giggle as he began plaiting her hair once more. Clarke sighed at the sensation, her muscles relaxing.

She wouldn't really pull her hair out. She enjoyed having his fingers run through it too much. 

* * *

**Three **

He nuzzled his face into her hair, his body finally relaxing as Clarke’s unique scent overwhelmed him. 

It had been approximately three hours since Clarke had almost mowed him down at the gates to the new camp. Three hours since he could finally breathe. Three hours before he came  _ home.  _

“Your hair is shorter.” 

The accusation rolled off his tongue automatically as his fingers reached the ends of her blonde tresses. Usually, his fingers would keep going until he was nearly touching her hips. Now, his fingers were stopping just underneath her bra strap. 

Clarke snorted, rolling over and facing him. “I didn’t ask for it to be cut, idiot.” She flicked his nose fondly. “I woke up with it like that.” 

Bellamy’s eyes narrowed at the reminder of  _ where  _ she’d woken up, and he did another inventory of all her injuries. The one that caused him the most concern was the one right by her lip. It would scar permanently, and it seemed to split open bit-by-bit with every word she spoke. 

“S’till shorter.” He grumbled petulantly, sighing as she sat up and grabbed at the elastic he’d kept around his wrist. 

He frowned once she’d pulled it free, feeling oddly bare. He’d been wearing it on his right wrist ever since he’d discovered them all missing st the dropship, and it felt weird to be without it. It was a part of her that had quickly become a part of him. 

“Ow.” 

He glanced up quickly, panicked, as her whine echoed through their tent. Her face was screwed up in a pained grimace, and her arms seemed stuck half in the air, hovering awkwardly at shoulder height. 

“Clarke?” 

She turned and lowered her arms slowly, whimpering as she did. “My shoulders. I think I pulled the muscles or something.” 

He pursed his lips sympathetically before patting the bed. “I’ll do it.” He murmured, his voice shaking slightly. 

Braiding Clarke’s hair was such a small, insignificant thing in the grand scheme of things, but it had become a part of his routine. It made him feel closer to her, and it helped keep him out of his own head for a little while. He’d missed doing it while they’d been separated, and he’d honestly thought he’d never get to do it again. 

“You don’t have to, Bell,” She sighed, eyeing him carefully. “I can just leave it down.” 

He huffed and rolled his eyes at her, frowning. “Just shut up and get over here.” 

Clarke glared at him as she stumbled back towards their bed. “Stop telling me what to do.” 

“You did what I said, though, Princess.” 

She squeaked as he pinched her side gently, his fingers dancing along her ribs teasingly. 

“Asshole.” 

He beamed, his heart fluttering slightly at the familiar banter. He’d missed this. He’d missed  _ her _ . 

Silently, he started running his fingers through her hair, releasing any knots that had gathered. He could feel his muscles relaxing the longer he sat there with her hair in his hands. Clarke was quiet too, her shoulders shaking slightly with every inhale. 

“Clarke.” He murmured, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to the back of her head. “I’m right here with you.” 

She shuddered, gasping softly. “I - Bell, uh, thank you. For doing my hair.” 

_ I missed you. I missed this. _

“Always, Princess.”  _ _

_ I missed you too, always.  _

* * *

**\+ 1**

Bellamy glanced up from his book and furrowed his brow at Octavia, sucking his bottom lip in to his mouth on a sharp exhale to stop himself from bursting into laughter at the crooked, knotted braid that dangled halfway down her hair before twisting around and knotting at the end. 

He knew immediately who the culprit was, and the indulgent look on his sister’s face as she tugged the braid out just proved his theory. 

“Kara did such a good job,” He cooed teasingly, tugging at the end of her hair. “Seriously though, how did she even do this?” 

Octavia huffed and threw her hands up in the air. “She was looking for Clarke, and I just so happened to get in her way. Thus, my new hairdo. You should probably go find her before she pulls somebody else’s hair out.” 

He chuckled lowly, shaking his head as he pushed himself up, grunting as his bones cracked in protest. 

“You’re getting old, big brother!” Octavia shouted after him, laughing loudly as he flipped her the finger. 

He made his way slowly towards his cabin, his heart clenching with happiness as his daughter’s laughter echoed out through the open door and straight out into the main square of the camp. He walked quicker, suddenly desperate to just grab his kid up in a hug.

“Mama,” Kara’s sigh seemed so big for her little body. Bellamy settled against the door frame of the cabin, his eyes burning with the overwhelming love he felt. “Am I doin’ it good like Daddy?” 

Clarke tilted her head slightly and hummed, reaching behind her so she could pat Kara’s back gently. “You’re doing it better than Daddy,” She whispered conspiratorially. 

“Uh, hey?” He snapped playfully, shoving himself off the door frame and stumbling forwards until he was sat on the bed next to Kara. “I’m very good at braiding your hair.” He sniffed, poking his wife in the ribs. 

Kara leaned forward slightly and nudged Bellamy to the side. “Leave Mommy.” She complained, her fingers letting the strands of hair drop. “Now look!” 

She looked identical to Clarke with her blonde hair and blue eyes. She even pulled the same face whenever she was frustrated. It was the most adorable thing he’d ever fucking seen. 

She was absolutely fucking _precious._

“Sorry, baby.” He murmured, wrapping his arm around her tiny waist and pressing a kiss to her temple. “Do you want me to help you?”

She nodded, smiling at him with her missing tooth proudly on show. 

He settled her in his lap, and helped her gather two strands of hair. “This one is called a fishtail, according to a book I found once.” 

Kara nodded, biting her lip in concentration as Bellamy started overlapping the hair, her little hands trapped underneath his. 

“I’ve fully resigned myself to the fact that my biggest role as a mom is just to be their hair doll.” 

Bellamy craned his neck and watched his newborn son feed from Clarke, a piece of her hair clenched tightly in Jax’s little fist. 

“It’s all your fault, too,” She carried on, wincing slightly as Jax pulled at the same time Kara tugged. “You’ve had a weird obsession Bell, and that obsession has transferred onto our kids.” 

He snorted and pressed a kiss to her cheek, sighing softly as she relaxed further into their hold. “Gently,” He urged Kara when Clarke grimaced again. “And, I’ll have you know that you’ve not complained once since I started braiding your hair for you.” 

“I - well, yeah,” She grunted, rolling her eyes at him. “It feels amazing having somebody playing with my hair and doing all the heavy work for me. I just didn’t realise that my own kids would apparently be so obsessed.” 

“You’re welcome.” He retorted immediately, leaning back and grinning proudly as Kara continued twisting Clarke’s hair into a braid. 

He’d honestly not realised just how often he  _ did  _ braid Clarke’s hair, not until Kara tried copying him when she was younger. It was now her favourite thing to do apparently, and with the tight grip his son had on Clarke’s hair too, he knew it wouldn’t be long before his youngest tried copying too. 

It was a family hobby, okay. 

“Remember, pull it a little tighter.” He encouraged, gently running his fingers through the ends of the braid. “Good job, peach. Mommy’s right, you are better than daddy!” 

Kara blushed under the praise and curled up into his chest, her fingers still fiddling with the tips of Clarke’s hair as she settled against him. 

“Okay, next, there’s this thing called a french braid.” 


End file.
